


bullet-proof loneliness at best

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post Season 4, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: there was something unspoken, undefined. denied, ignored, held down. but it was there, prominently, no matter how far away it was pushed. jim decided to stop pushing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> don't tell fall out boy i use their lyrics for my fic titles. also don't tell anyone else either because that's so uncool.
> 
> this was supposed to be shorter, way shorter. I was supposed to spit it out and call it a day, but now it's coming in parts because that's just where we're at. i hope you enjoy the first one. the second should be out shortly, as the work is almost entirely completed with a few fill-in-the-blanks and editing to do.

“Oswald.” Jim acknowledged warily, eyes shifting around the large, open room, thumb twitching atop his pistol but making no move to raise it. Of all the rogues he could have encountered while scouting this territory, Oswald Cobblepot stood before him. Some part of him was on guard, but mostly he was relieved. He knew Oswald.

But he also had it on good authority that Oswald had murdered what remained of Butch Gilzean after two years in order to get vengeance for his mother’s death. Jim couldn’t count the number of things Oswald might want vengeance on Jim for. None of them quite so heart-breaking, but still far from forgivable. Luckily, he wasn’t alone. But the last thing he wanted was a fire-fight.

“Jim Gordon,” Oswald said, loudly, voice echoing throughout the dome, “you can’t be here.” As if on cue despite no visible motion from Oswald, the men surrounding them raised and readied their weapons. In response everyone behind Jim, including Harvey, raised theirs as well. Jim kept his pointed at the ground at his side.

“Wait!” He shouted, firmly, and the room remained still. Oswald was smirking at him with some form of appreciation or amusement from across the room. It was impressive the way he always reaffirmed himself, almost scary. 

Jim had seen Oswald at the lowest of the low. There were times that Oswald had intentionally made himself vulnerable to Jim, had been honest with him in ways that compromised one’s ability to fear him.Yet, standing in that room, another small army at his command, Jim found that some part of him did, in whatever way he was still capable of experiencing fear, fear Oswald. He wasn’t the man wandering the streets of gotham in Arkham stripes and a oversized robe anymore. Nor the man caught up in a crazy scheme he didn’t want to be apart of and desperately looking for help against it. Jim was going to need to respect that if he was walking out of here alive.

“Wait,” Jim repeated, taking a deep breath, “we didn’t mean to intrude, we’re scouting the area for civilians who didn’t make the evacuation. Have you found anyone?”

“Oh Jim, ever the people’s hero,” he sighed in amusement, then immediately frowned. “What will you give me for them?”

Jim took a step forward, and slowly holstered his gun. “So you have. Are they hurt?”

“Some,” Oswald shrugged, “A few are criminals, and will probably join with me if they know what’s good for them. Others… families, homeless teenagers— those ones you’ll have to make an offer for. Also, Lee Thompkins was stabbed.”

Jim’s eyes widened, “stabbed?”

“By Ed Nygma.” Jim’s eyes darkened. “Predictably.” Oswald pursed his lip. “If it makes you feel any better it looks like she stabbed him too. Also, despite the fact that he’s probably had more experience stabbing, she did a better job hitting vitals. Must be a doctor thing.”

“Is she going to make it?” Jim asked.

Oswald rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” He said simply. “And, when she’s better, as a show of good faith I’ll release her to her own devices. I assume you don’t care what I do with Ed? _If_ he lives.”

“Why would I?” Jim confirmed, “About the others. It’s not like you to hold lives hostage. What are you threatening to do if I don’t meet your demands?”

“I’ll kill all of them,” Oswald said, simply, spitefully, and nodding with a manic grin.

Jim stood still, observing him quietly even as he could hear Harvey whispering his name from behind him. 

Finally, grateful for Oswald’s patience, he spoke. “I didn’t expect to find you here, but when I did run into you I was hoping we could reach an understanding.”

“I’m done with understandings, Jim,” Oswald spat his name out like it was poison on his tongue. “The GCPD has no power like it used to. Your alliance means nothing to me, and I don't have time to--”

“You’re wrong,” Jim interrupted, taking a step toward him. Oswald seemed taken aback by the assertion, but far from convinced.

“We’re going to restore order, whether you believe it or not. I know you want the same thing, and there’s no one I’d rather have organizing the underworld. You’re the last person I want to start a war with right now.”

Oswald stood still, chewed his lip with both hands on his cane in front of him as he considered, weighed his options. It meant something that Jim was willing to say that to Oswald in front of all his men— say that to a criminal. It meant something had changed.

“Leave, I’ll give you the ones that need a hospital, and you can come back alone with less of an army to discuss the rest,” Oswald said. Jim considered this for a few moments, and then nodded.

“Fall back,” he told his men, Harvey’s eyes shifting between the two of them. “We’re heading north.” Jim turned around to follow his men out a few seconds after they’d vacated. Oswald watched Jim and his little army of rescuers leave without a word.

o-o-o

Public places were less common occurrences in Gotham now. The city was so divided and so much money was moving around illegitimately that very few businesses managed to flourish, even corrupt ones. Worse still, there were even fewer where a man like Jim Gordon could enter safely.

But Oswald had invited him to a restaurant that Jim knew to still be at least mostly legitimate for their talk. He was glad it was in a public place, though in honesty he didn’t expect Oswald to hurt or betray him. That simply wasn’t how things had ever gone before, and Jim was sure that while Oswald may have been in denial about it, he needed Jim now more than ever. At least until some sliver of order was restored to Gotham that allowed him to have a more stable rule.

“As you may know, I hold the largest portion of Gotham’s territories, many of which are the most lucrative as well.”

Jim nodded, “But the others are held by equally powerful men— and women, specifically certain women who will never bend to your rule.”

“I’m aware of that!” Oswald barked, aggressively as if the fact had been frustrating him for weeks and he was sick of hearing about it. Or maybe it just felt good to let off steam.

“Don’t get mad, I’m just reminding you why you need me.”

“Do I?” Oswald leaned closer, narrowing his eyes, “or are you more trouble than you’re worth?”

“Oswa…”

Oswald held up a hand to cut him off, but didn’t say anything more, closing his eyes and pursing his lips in thought. His hair was done up like always, his clothes and style choices were immaculate like always. But his eyes had bags almost as big as the ones he’d seen when Oswald was in Arkham. If it were possible, he looked more pale than usual. Kingpin of the underworld wasn’t an easy job, certainly it wasn’t amass with opportunities for rest. But this position was clearly wearing on him worse.

“Oswald,” Jim said again, softly, because Oswald was taking a while to continue. His hands were on the table, both his fingers were curled in but one was tight, squeezing itself like it had an imaginary stress ball. Jim had an urge to reach out and touch it, try to use contact to calm him down. But the thought made his heart beat faster and that didn’t feel quite right, so he didn’t.

“I know I can’t trust you.” Oswald said, and Jim’s eyes shifted away. “I know you don’t trust me…” he heaved a sigh. “But… we have a mutual interest, don’t we?”

“To an extent,” Jim nodded.

“And as soon as that extent is achieved, we can agree to be at each other’s throats again?” Oswald said, some humor in his tone, and Jim was glad to see him smile.

“Agreed.”

“But not before then,” Oswald said seriously, looking Jim straight in the eyes. His gaze was firm, but also searching, hopeful almost, and definitely hunting for lies.

“Maybe we should make the terms of when we get to shoot at each other again more specific?”

Oswald shrugged. “When I have better control over my territories, when the other pathetic, wanna-be leaders littered around Gotham respect and fear me,” Oswald said, “in exchange, I’ll help you with the bigger threats among them anyway I can. I’ll even offer my men, if you need them.”

“Your men have always proven to be unstable, indiscriminate murderers,” Jim said. “I’ll only ask you for information.” Jim leaned in, putting his face only inches from Oswald’s and watching the smugness run away from it, chase off by wide eyes and twitching lips. He let his eyes drift downward, over Oswald’s mouth, down to his neck to watch it move when he swallowed. He’d done this to Oswald so many times before, so many times just to watch him react. He knew Oswald probably hoped his wide eyes and shortness of breath in response passed as intimidated, but Jim knew what it really was. Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t that easy to scare, but it was easy to make his pale cheeks turn red and his breath catch in his throat.

“Also, I’m your only ally.” Jim said, perhaps manipulatively as he tilted his head. “I’ll look the other way when you ask me to as long as you don’t make friends with anyone else out there.”

“Shouldn’t be hard, considering they’re all morons and lunatics.” Oswald ground his teeth, and Jim smirked when Oswald’s eyes faltered and darted down to his lips, then back up like nothing happened. “But I find it hard to believe you’ll be able to look the other way every time. Even if you’re sure now, I expect you to betray me,” Oswald shrugged, “it’s who you are.”

Jim was taken a back by that, and leaned away.

“But I accept your terms,” Oswald said, bringing his glass of too-expensive champagne to his lips. “I know better than to pursue you as an enemy, and I’ll just have to keep my guard up, won’t I?”

So much of Jim wanted to tell him he could relax. That he wouldn’t betray him, he’d remain true to their deal this time. That things had changed. That Gotham needed this.

But it would have been a lie. Not a promise he intended to break but Oswald was right, it was who he was. Still, it was a lie he wanted to tell because so much of him wanted to see Oswald Cobblepot relax, to feel safe, just in this moment. Jim didn’t know if he’d ever seen that— perhaps his mother was the only one who ever had. He wished he could have allowed Oswald to be the blind spot, but he couldn’t help himself. Oswald lit a fire in him in a lot of ways, some of which directly contradicted each other.

“Guess that’ll have to do.” Jim said, raising his glass of cheap whisky. Oswald smiled as he raised his, and Jim returned it with only a small twitch at the side of his lips. They both drank, and both retreated and moved on within ten minutes of seeing the bottoms of their glasses.

o-o-o-o

For weeks things went smoothly. They exchanged information on other factions, both pursuing Jeremiah’s most aggressively though he and his still small following seemed the most illusive. They both knew that with Jeremiah’s mind and habit of supposedly organized destruction, all he needed was steady resources to make an even bigger mess of the whole city. Often Oswald would show up alone, drop a text that Jim could quickly delete. That, or ask Jim to meet him somewhere off the grid, rather than inviting him straight into the lion’s den like he used to before everything went to shit. Jim assumed after having fallen from grace so many times, Oswald was simply being careful. Publicly and among his own people, Oswald Cobblepot preached a return to the way Gotham used to be. He had money, manipulation, and his power was growing steadily enough to make his promises seem possible long-term. It wasn’t damning for him to align with what was possibly the only other faction in Gotham working to restore that kind of order, but it was still better not to make a big show of it.

According to Oswald, only his right hand men were aware of it. Harvey had suspected the outcome of their meeting and guessed, and somehow that lead to Lucius Fox knowing as well. Aside from that, it remained a well-kept secret.

“I know we’re lying low and all that, but couldn’t you have picked a place with a single drink that sounds palatable?” Oswald was reading a menu like it was what they were there for, and complaining, because of course he was. “There’s been fighting on the west side,” Jim said, ignoring the question all together to get straight to business.

Jim paused to read Oswald’s reaction, but found only expectancy in his eyes.

“Right outside of one of your territories. Do you know anything about it?”

“Skirmishes are happening all over right now. My people are given orders to pursue and defend under various circumstances.” Oswald shrugged. “Why, was there note-worthy collateral?”

“Not yet,” Jim frowned, “but someone had a rocket launcher. As far as we know no one lived in the area, but whoever it was, they missed and blew up a vacant house.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “Are you asking me to ask my men to be more careful about where they aim bazookas? Is that why we’re here today?”

“…not the only reason, but yes. And who misses with a rocket launcher anyway?”

Oswald released a long, harsh sigh. “I don’t remember you nitpicking my methods as being part of our deal.”

“I’m just asking.” Jim insisted, though more aggressive than one should be when asking for a favor.

Still, Oswald sighed deeply. “Fine,” he said, “what else is there?”

“One of your lieutenants is a double agent,” Jim said, and Oswald’s eyes immediately widened. Jim pulled a small file, seemingly from nowhere, and held it out to him. “All of the evidence is there, she’s working for Barbara Kean.”

Oswald frowned hard, and grabbed the file, pulling on it only to find Jim had tightened his grip. “I’m giving you this on one condition.” Jim said, making sure to look Oswald in the eyes. “Don’t kill her. If she turns up dead or missing I’ll know you ordered it.”

Oswald ground his teeth. “Again, _fine._ ” He pulled harder on the file and Jim released it. Oswald opened it and looked it over. There was a photo and everything— which was helpful, as Oswald wasn’t great at remembering the names of his henchmen. But he did recognize her. Good in a fight, though not good enough for it to be a red flag. Oswald was sure he never would have read her as being worthy of note let alone suspicion.

“Thank you,” Oswald said, closing the file. “This means a lot.” Jim nodded. “You’ve been tipping us off a lot lately, and that information just about fell into my hands,” He shrugged, and took a sip of whiskey. He didn’t know why he lied. In truth he’d cross-referenced the backgrounds of all of Oswald’s top people with GCPD intel. Oswald seemed to always manage to be blind to what was right in front of him.

“I’m only sorry I don’t have anything for you at the moment,” Oswald admitted, and Jim nodded, accepting the fact.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Jim asked. “Finding out your friend is actually your enemy can be a downer.”

Oswald took a deep breath, and at that moment he really wished he had ordered something just so he could take a long, slow gulp of it.

“I don’t have friends anymore, James.” Oswald said, smiling with forced humor. “Too much of a headache,” the smile disappeared and betrayed something else, which he quickly tried to cover up with more words. “Also I barely knew the woman, so it’s hardly an emotional loss. All business.”

He still wanted a drink.

He tensed when Jim pushed his glass in front of him, and looked down it with his mouth open because he was going to protest but didn’t know what to say. It was whiskey, but unbeknownst to most he wasn’t as picky with liquor as he pretended to be.

He touched the side of it with his fingers, and his eyes shifted to Jim. Drinking it was admitting Jim Gordon was right when he thought he needed it. Admitting Jim Gordon had just successfully read him, acknowledging that Jim Gordon had read him as stressed and offered a careful reprieve without first making him admit it.

That was a lot.

“Everyone needs to unwind sometimes. If you can’t handle whiskey, order something else.” Jim sounded infuriatingly uncaring and brutish when he said it, and yet it was the “can’t handle” part that pissed Oswald off the most.

He picked up the glass, brought it to his lips, and tilted it back, downing the two remaining sips in one go.

“For your information, Jim.” He said before he’d barely finished swallowing, the burn in his throat clearly hardly phasing him. “I drink plenty.”

Jim snorted and smiled just slightly, then waved to the bartender for a refill.

“Doesn’t sound like the kind of think you should be defensive about.” Jim mumbled.

“You’re one to talk.”

When the bartender approached, Oswald interrupted him to order his own drink. They talked, he ordered another, Jim sipping just as consistently beside him until the night faded along with the time they had to spend in this place. With few words of good-bye, they parted ways.


	2. this year's apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought I should mention that while I am posting this in parts, this fic is still relatively short, heavy Jim/Oswald focus, very little plot and it's all background. I'll be honest I'm not interested in writing big, complex plots unless it's relevant to their relationship development.
> 
> Season 5 canon is already going to drag this fic through the dirt so I suppose I'm not trying to make a big project, just trying to get these dudes to kiss. All in all this is still a short story, maybe short enough that I could have made it a one-shot, but to be honest I suppose I put it up in parts because I was insecure. It paid off as I've re-evaluated and changed a few things for part 2. All in all this fic was partially a way for me to examine what I really want from their dynamic on a serious front, and hopefully influence things I write for them in the future.
> 
> Total word count will be about 15k, four parts total. This part is 4.6k.

The in-person meetings became easier the more often they occurred. Jim felt himself less and less worried Oswald might spring off his hinges and attack every time Jim asked for or accused him of anything unsavory. It wasn’t long before the possibility hardly crossed his mind.

Jim wasn’t the only one who’s aura had changed. Oswald had started showing up unarmed, stance unprotected, speech less and less guarded. Not that Jim had ever noticed a weakness he’d move to exploit, and in truth Oswald never offered Jim access to anything he could exploit beyond his own life. The fact that he trusted Jim not to shoot him where he stood wasn’t a huge surprise given how they originally met.

Still, it was just the demeanor he held, the things he’d started saying. It was as if he enjoyed their meetings, like he was opening up socially. Jim had to wonder if he knew he was doing it. Over the years he’d seen the parts of Oswald Cobblepot that were so very human and so very flawed even by his own standards. After the bombs he wasn’t sure he’d ever be privy to that side of Oswald again. 

But there Oswald was, falling into the chair next to him and releasing an exhausted breath as if here was the place he finally felt able to relax.

_“Long day?” Jim had asked._

_“You have no idea,” Oswald ground out leaning his cain against the table and pulling the drink he’d asked Jim to pre-order for him closer before lifting it to his lips to take a sip, face twisted with annoyance._

_“I’m sure I don’t want to,” Jim shrugged, “unless you’re here to take a load off.”_

_Oswald snorted, but smiled slightly. “Business, Jim.” Oswald raised his glass, and Jim did the same. “Just business.”_

Two months passed, and the tension was all but gone. That was, until things became a little too personal. Sometimes Jim got too close, and Oswald was quick to find some subtle excuse to move away. Leading Jim to try and forget why he’d gotten close in the first place.

_“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” Jim asked, pointing to a fresh wound above Oswald’s eyebrow._

_Oswald raised his hand to it, touching his fingers to it lightly. “Wrong side of a crowbar. Wasn’t aimed at me, but it still hurt.”_

_“Looks like it could need stitches…”_

_“If it comes to that I have the connections, don’t waste your time worrying about it.”_

On the flip side Oswald still consistently refused to let Jim pay for drinks, meals, pull out chairs for or hold doors for him. And refusing to accept a held-open door took a lot more effort than simply walking through it. It wasn’t long before Jim got the message and stopped trying. They weren’t friends, just allies with a mutual interest coming together strictly to share information. That’s what Oswald insisted on, and Jim couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand why.

Still, it was hard to watch Oswald walk by and pretend not to notice Jim had casually pulled out one stool in favor of the one he had to pull out himself and not wonder if he could fix it. He couldn’t, could he? There was too much history, too much difference.

“I appreciate that being the only cop not constantly taking the easy way out must be difficult, but you should really try sitting in the spotlight of a legion of murderous wanna-bes,” Oswald grumbled, leaning his back heavily against the wall across from Jim. Jim wondered, for a moment, if he would have preferred to sit down. It was an alleyway a few blocks behind the GCPD, though, a last-minute meet-up Oswald had called in only minutes before. There were no chairs or even crates, so he chased the thought away.

“If I ever find that Jeremiah I’m going to…” Oswald ground out, but cut himself off in the end, sighing as he seemed to try and go back and remember why he was here.

“I won’t stop you,” Jim said, before he realized he was talking. Oswald met his eyes and smirked.

“Careful, Jim,” Oswald said. “You know all of Gotham is itching to see that dark side of yours again.”

Jim shrugged. “If that’s true they’ll be disappointed. The last thing I want is to blend in.”

“I just miss all the black, the leather jacket…” Oswald took in a sharp breath. “Those grey suits just aren’t doing you the same favors.”

Jim furrowed his brow, “if you’re gonna be that way, I liked your hair better when it went straight down,” he smiled sarcastically.

Oswald let out a loud laugh in response, “touche!” he said, nodding his head. “Perhaps we can agree to disagree about each other’s fashion choices and move onto the task at hand.”

“Probably best,” Jim agreed, stepping forward into the changing mood.

o-o-o-o

“How’s your new best friend?” Harvey asked from behind an open file, sounding too huffy and puffy to be completely joking.

Harvey knew because of course Harvey knew, and he never failed to bring it up after one of their meetings. He seemed infinitely amused by the whole thing, probably something to do with the fact that just a year ago Jim had aligned with a different mobster to destroy Penguin, and now he was an asset at restoring some semblance of order.

Harvey didn’t often say less than he was thinking, but Jim got the distinct feeling that he had been doing that lately.

“I don’t know, we don’t exactly chat,” Jim said behind his coffee, not knowing why he’d blatantly lied.

Harvey pursed his lips thoughtfully, “what sound does a penguin make?” 

The complete subject change through Jim for a loop but was far from unwelcome.

“I think it’s almost a mid-pitch squawk,” Lucius said, seeming to somehow actually know the answer.

Harvey snorted. “In my experience it’s more like a high-pitched whining,” then he laughed, and Jim watched Lucius’s eyes shift but he didn’t so much as smile at the joke. Jim hid a frown behind his coffee, though neither of them were paying attention to him.

“Bet I could make him squawk,” Harvey mumbled, and Jim’s body jerked in surprise and he spilled his coffee on his hand because for a good five-seconds he’d taken that completely the wrong way. ‘Squawk’ had been interpreted as ‘squeal’ and for a moment he was vividly imagining the sounds Oswald Cobblepot might have made when being touched in all the right ways and _places._

When he registered that Harvey was talking about some form of completely non-sexual physical torture, it was too late. He’d already spilled his coffee over his hand and sleeve, though no one seemed to notice. Lucius was looking over Harvey’s shoulder at the papers on his desk with interest. That of course, allowed any such thoughts to be swept under his mental rug with the other ones he didn’t have time for.

The two of them were so close since the first set of bombs. Jim was nothing but glad for it— he liked having Harvey all to himself, sure. But it was nice that Harvey had another guy he was willing to, at any time, run into certain death with. He was sure that sometimes, Lucius felt like the third wheel just as much as he did.

o-o-o-o-o

It was another two days before they met again, this time because Oswald had left a vague message via a young boy that they could help each other. With what, it didn’t specify. But Jim had come to believe Oswald no questions asked, and his tips usually lead to some significant wins.

He wasn’t ready for flashes of what he’d imagined at the GCPD thanks to Harvey’s accidentally suggestive words to pass through his mind the moment he saw Oswald. Something like a mild guilt pooled in his stomach, as if it was terrible of him to have imagined such things. To be imagining them right now.

Oswald didn’t trust him, had a million reasons not to, and while there was progress, still appeared as if he felt unsafe in his presence. Like hell would he ever want to be underneath him.

Jim had better uses for him anyway— _fuck that thought didn’t give him freedom from the dirt in his mind like he’d hoped it would._

“This one’s small, but it could grow if left unchecked,” Real Oswald talked business while imaginary Oswald rode him like a race horse with a rough gait.

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, filling his mind with thoughts of the last time he saw Lee, the fact that he had no idea where she was, if she was safe or happy. He never let himself worry about that, knew he had to let her go. But right now he needed to let it in to chase something else out.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Headache,” Jim lied, quickly, pressing his thumb and finger to his forehead.

“In that case I apologize, I usually carry pain pills with me, but my leg has been cooperative today so I opted against it,”

“It’s fine,” Jim said, making eye contact. He hesitated to speak further when he realized something looked slightly different about Oswald.

“You changed your hair,” he realized.

Oswald laughed enthusiastically, and reached up to touch it gently with his fingertips. “Sort of an inside joke. Last time we met you said you liked it best this way. This is what you meant, right?”

It was essentially the way it had looked back when Falcone still ran the underworld and everything in Gotham hadn’t gone to shit. When Oswald called him friend, trusted him and offered his help free of charge.

“It is,” Jim smiled shortly, though he was much more amused than his expression implied. He could hardly believe Oswald remembered he’d said that let alone had taken action in response. It wasn’t just the hair, either. He was wearing a plainer suit like he used to. Black with a black tie and while undershirt— but of course there were umbrella’s embroidered on the cuffs. Minimally formal, but still so very Oswald.

“With all the hell in this town, I figured we have to have fun somehow,” Oswald’s laugh was a little more forced this time.

“If you have low standards for fun, I guess.” Jim said, meaning it humorously before he realized how dry his tone sounded.

“True, but we make do. And you noticed! So not for nothing!”

Jim smiled, a little forced, and nodded. “I guess not.” Of course he noticed. It was the same way Oswald looked when he used to look like he would let Jim have him over the nearest table. That night at his club when Jim naively asked for his help and they shared champagne. The first night he’d looked at Oswald and found himself looking too closely, thinking too vividly. That night he’d almost—

“A man of few words today, are we?” Oswald huffed, and Jim’s thoughts were interrupted. “Oh, right, headache. My bad. I suppose I am a bit pressed for time, anyway. Shall we?”

Jim nodded quickly, awkwardly, his heart beating noticeably faster even as he tried not to notice. He kept his eyes on the ground as he stepped a little closer to listen to whatever it was Oswald had to say.

“Jim.” Oswald said, voice a little darker now. Jim looked up at him in wide-eyed curious askance, because Oswald sounded a little scary. “Something you’re not telling me?” He asked, and now Jim’s heart was pounding.

Oswald thought he was hiding something. He was, but he wasn’t about to tell Oswald he was thinking of him in unconventional circumstances at that very moment. Which was a problem because Oswald clearly thought he was hiding something a bit more unscrupulous, like plans to betray him.

“No,” was all Jim could say, accompanied by a forced smile. “Just a headache.”

He watched Oswald’s face fall, his eyes turn sad and his breath shake because he didn’t believe him, and it stung worse than the accusation had.

“Very well,” Oswald gathered himself well, like he always did. “Down to business, then.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next time they met it was Jim’s idea, Jim’s spot, and while it wasn’t a completely necessary follow-up and amendment to the particulars of their last discussion, Oswald had agreed none-the-less. 

Jim wanted to see him. Not so much just for the sake of seeing him but he knew that Oswald worrying about Jim double-crossing him wouldn’t be a problem as long as Jim didn’t. So the more Oswald saw of him, the less reason he’d have to suspect anything, the faster things could go back to normal and Jim could stop worrying that Oswald was at home mulling over what way Jim Gordon was going to drag him through the mud this time.It was a warehouse, small, still full of junk but abandoned and outside of any known territories and fairly far from any as well. They’d both had to travel quite a long way— especially Oswald. But safety and secrecy were things they could both agree as being top priority.Oswald showed only a few minutes after Jim had given the place a once-over, announcing himself with the click of the small back door falling shut as he slipped in.

His hair was back to the way Oswald had it most of the time lately, but that was fine— expected even. He’d changed it for their inside joke, not for good. It was the same reason Jim had dragged his old leather jacket out of hiding, and perhaps also had it dry cleaned.

By his face and a small, amused laugh, Oswald seemed to notice the moment he saw him.

“Someone’s not dressed much like a cop,” He said, voice hesitant and seeming to get stuck behind his tongue at one point. Jim watched his eyes crawl over him and more than just his heart twitched at attention as Oswald tried to hide his appreciation. He’d never been very good at it.

Jim realized he was being silent and fumbled for words. “Meeting with and making deals with criminals isn’t very cop-like anyway,” he was able to get that out smoothly enough.

“True enough,” Oswald nodded, smile short and forced and breath quite obviously short. 

“I heard you liked this get-up, thought it might make you more amenable.” Could that be classified as flirting? No, no, not undoubtedly. Certainly Oswald would find any reason to dismiss it given his plethora of insecurities.

“As if I don’t agree to everything every time anyway,” Oswald rolled his eyes. “But, if you’re going to try and get me to do something especially unsavory, I must admit an old fashion navy blue police uniform would do a better job.”

“Oh?” Jim pushed the jacket back with his hands to put his hands on his hips, and Oswald’s eyes darted down to his waist immediately. He seemed speechless for a moment, Jim was half-convinced he’d heard a whine escape his lips but it was probably wishful thinking. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jim finished, keeping his voice plain.

Oswald took a deep breath, expression changing in a way that Jim’s eyes locked onto with intense interest. “Jim…” he started, tilting his head slightly and looking down and it was obvious he was going to say something more personal than—

Jim’s thoughts and Oswald’s words were cut off by a muffled but distinctly familiar and dangerous sound, as well as Oswald freezing when it whipped past just above his ear, leaving a perfectly round hole on the ground in front of Jim’s feet.

“Get down!” Jim shouted, and before Oswald could register the situation Jim had wrapped his arms around his shoulders and was pulling— almost carrying him toward a space between two fully stacked shelves. 

Three more rounds followed after them as they moved, well-timed and precise and all just barely missing their moving marks. It made sense that no amateur assassins were sent after Oswald Cobblepot. If he hadn’t tilted his head at that very moment, Jim was sure he’d be dead with a bullet in his head.

Jim crouched down behind the shelf, pulling Oswald with him and shielding him with his body in case the sniper still had an angle. 

“Are you okay?” Jim prodded, looking more closely at Oswald. There was blood on the side of his face, dripping down it. The bullet had just barely grazed him, had nearly taken him.

Oswald seemed only able to nod, his face panicked and confused but still alive, still completely alive. Another shot hadn’t been fired, so it was obvious that the shots hadn’t come from the window across from them. Jim looked up and out it, but wasn’t able to see anything or anyone. He then stood up half-way and looked between the items on the shelf at the window the bullets had come through, the one with four perfect holes in the glass. He could see movement on the rooftop beside them, and not just that of one person. At least three were in the process of changing their position. If they were going to get out, it had to be now.

Jim held Oswald by his lapels, turning his head to where he’d noticed the back door earlier. The view from any window was fairly obstructed, and if they moved quickly they’d make it. It might've been covered by more snipers, but they didn't have a choice. The front door was certainly well in range.

“There’s more than one. We have to go,” he said, and jerked Oswald up to pull him along—

“Jim!” Oswald stopped him, a hand wrapped around his wrist. Jim heard something clack to the floor, but didn’t waste time asking what it was. “There’s a safehouse not far from here, it has an emergency escape, we can—,”

“Good!" Jim interrupted. "Once we get outside, just lead the way.” For only a second he took in how close Oswald’s face was, then he took off.

“Wait, my—,” Jim didn’t listen to whatever was making Oswald protest, and eventually Oswald complied and went along with him. Jim shoved the door open with all of his strength, and as expected it was rusted shut and took as much effort to open as he gave it. But the minute he did, they ran.

Oswald wasn’t as fast as Jim, nor was he going as fast as Jim would have wanted to save their asses, but Jim stayed behind him and kept an eye on their backs none-the-less. He wanted to ask how far, what did Oswald mean by emergency escape, was he even sure it would be vacant, but no words came out. He just kept running, hands on Oswald back and shoulders to encourage him to keep going as he continuously glanced over his shoulder. Oswald was plenty good at just continuing to run, and in only a few minutes, it was clear he’d run to the right place.

Before Jim knew it he’d followed Oswald through a steel door in the side of a wall, and stopped only to hear it slam shut behind him. Oswald turned around quickly and fell against it, breath heaving, eyes shut tight when he groaned and reached down to squeeze his own knee.

Jim watched helplessly, not quite as out of breath, but shoulders still heaving. He waited as Oswald fished a bottle out of one of his pocket, and shoved more than a doctor’s recommended amount in his mouth before tilting his head back to swallow them. Once he’d gotten them down he frustratedly slammed the pills down on a table near the door, and pushed himself off of it to cross the room.

“How did you know about this place?” Jim asked, blinking at the steel, obviously deadbolted door between them and their attackers.

“It was Maroni’s.” Oswald said, huffing as he dragged himself across the room to a wood-paneled wall on the opposite side. “Top secret, overly secure because he was twice as paranoid as Falcone. Even I didn’t know about it until after he was dead. And I learned after I took Gotham that there were very few secrets of Maroni's I didn't find out about while with him or Falcone. Some things I left untouched just in case I ever needed them.”

"So no one else knows about it." Jim said.

"Convenient, isn't it?" Oswald smirked back at him.

"Lucky." Jim nodded, letting himself relax just a little. “This is on the edge of a residential area, far from any of his old bases.” Jim said, thoughtfully. “Why would he need a place all the way out here?”

“Like I said, overly paranoid.” Oswald then turned back to face the wall. Jim watched quietly as he scanned it with his eyes.

He put one hand on the wall, a crease between two of the boards, then moved it until he found a panel that opened sideways, revealing a lever. When he pulled the lever, a small door, barely big enough for one person, opened on the opposite wall. Jim blinked, impressed.

“Where does it lead?” Jim asked.

“Unfortunately, not very far away. Just outside, but underground. Not through a place that looks like a way in. It’s for if someone’s trying to come in the front,” Oswald pushed the lever down and the door shut. “I’ll call in back-up, and we can escape during the commotion.”

Jim considered, silently.

“I’ll need your phone, though. I lost mine when you dragged me out of there.” Oswald held out his hand.

Jim said nothing, and didn’t move to do as he asked. His eyes shifted around the room quickly. There didn’t seem to be a landline.

“Jim!” Oswald prodded, urgently.

“No.” Jim said, simply.

“What?” Oswald barked.

“There are innocent people here still living and taking refuge in some of those houses. We’re not starting an all-out firefight with a bunch of assassins who don’t even know where we are.”

“Are you kidding me?” Oswald shook with rage and Jim puffed himself up like the big powerful police captain Gotham let him think he was.

“We lay low here until they move on,” Jim insisted. “If they knew where we were they’d be shooting at the door by now.”

“It’s almost dark!” Oswald shouted. “In a half-hour we won’t be able to see if they’ve moved on!”

“Then we spend the night,” Jim said, simply. “Trust me, Oswald. This way’s safer for everyone involved.”

“Including the assassins, who live to try and _kill me_ another day!”

“We look into who they are, who they might be working for. We know what they were using, and there were at least three of them—,”

“Jim!” Oswald shouted, interrupting him, voice cracking. “ _I want to get the hell out of here!_ Whoever they are, I want to know who sent them, but first I want them dead! Now!” He stamped his foot and pointed a finger at the ground. “I won’t lose it again, everything I’ve built! I won’t go back to the bottom again!” He was shaking and no longer looking at Jim as he spoke, but was storming across the room to a cupboard.

“I won’t go through that again.” He spat, shoving his hands to the back of the cupboard and pushing things out of it. Pots, pans, probably looking for some kind of device he could use to make a call. Oswald threw open another cupboard, remembering each time and the hell he’d was thrown into and horrors it took to get back.

He’d gotten through two cupboards and a drawer before he gave into the fact that there was nothing in them but dishes. It was just like fucking Maroni to stock his safehouses with homey practicalities instead of anything actually fucking _useful._ He leaned his hands against the counter and bent his neck down, shutting his eyes tightly.

Galavan, Strange, Ed, Jerome… he was someone else now because of all of it. The terrible person he’d been was then was nothing in comparison to the terrible person he was now. The things he’d lost.. the things he’d done, would continue to do because there was no looking back. After all of it he would not go back to the beginning. Not again.

And Jim. Jim had a hand in it, almost every time he fell _Jim Gordon_ was one of the cogs in the machine that took him down. No, not just a fucking cog, he was the _engine—_

Oswald’s particularly menacing thoughts were cut off when arms wrapped around him from behind. Loosely around his midsection, but tightly enough that his upper back was pressed against a warm body. His breathing stopped.

“I won’t let that happen,” Jim said, voice somehow soft and firm at the same time, so reassuring that Oswald felt tears bite the corners of his eyes. 

How much he wanted to trust those words. How easily manipulated, how weak he was, especially as he turned fast to throw his arms around and pull Jim tight against him, raised his hands to curl his fingers into the back of his jacket, turned his head to press his nose into his chest and inhale deeply.

“Not like this.’’ Jim whispered, all soft this time.

Oswald knew what that meant. It was like he’d said during their first meeting, he’d never be able to trust Jim not to get in his way. But _with this,_ he was saying, _with this he would help._ He would protect Oswald from whoever was out there, right now. Jim might not have always acted in his best interest, so frequently acted directly against him, but he was at very least, always honest about it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Oswald believed him. His body started to relax, but not loosen. Jim wasn’t pulling back either. Instead he was rubbing little circles on Oswald’s back through his suit with his thumbs. 

Oswald took a deep breath to stop his eyes from getting too wet, his cheek still snug against Jim’s chest. Jim wasn’t letting go, and that was fine. Maybe it had been a while since Jim had held anyone, too.

Oswald let himself stand still in the feeling, get lost in it, for perhaps a minute and thirty seconds. Then he shut his eyes tightly to snap himself out of it, and reached into the pocket he’d seen Jim put his phone into earlier. He snatched it out and quickly broke free of Jim’s embrace to flip it open and dial as fast as he could.

“Oswald!” Jim’s voice boomed and Oswald couldn’t press two buttons before Jim was wrestling the phone out of his hands.

“Jim, just—,” Oswald stamped as he spun, empty handed as Jim had snatched it back in no time, closed, it, and shoved it back into his pocket.

“We’re staying here!” Jim insisted, loudly. “I’ll tell Harvey the situation, ask him to start looking into who those assassins might be.”

Oswald scoffed, face crinkled with frustration, eyeing the pocket where Jim had put his phone, trying to decide if there was any way in hell he could best Jim physically and get it out of there. The obvious answer was no.

Jim would have to let down his guard again.

“Fine.” Oswald deflated, eyes shifting to glare at the wall. Then he sighed. “I’m tired anyway,” he made his way toward the single, solitary bed on the far end of the room. Running took a lot out of him, and worst of all his leg hurt like hell. If Jim was going to play guard dog, Oswald was going to get some rest. Or at least lie down and rest his leg.

“We should stay up for a few hours, at least.” Jim said, still gruff after Oswald’s thievery attempt but somewhat calmer. “They’ll probably be canvassing the area for a while.”

“I’m just going to lie down,” Oswald said. He didn’t think he could sleep anyway.


	3. if I woke up next to you

Talking to Harvey had been a pain. For one, the service in this place wasn’t great. But more than that Harvey seemed content to lose his shit once Jim told him he was suck in a house with Oswald Cobblepot, surrounded by assassins. All Jim wanted to do to begin with was tell him he’d call him in the morning to confirm he was still alive, but Harvey had to ask a hundred questions first.

Jim didn’t tell Harvey where they were, because he was sure he’d lead a team in guns blazing whether Jim wanted it or not. That was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Gotham needed less chaos, not more. Especially in otherwise relatively peaceful places like this.

Harvey finally got the message and stopped pressing, and Jim was able to get off the phone, left with some warning to be just as wary of what’s inside that place as what was out. Jim had glanced at Oswald, but thought little of it.

Once that was done, he pulled a chair away from a small poker table in the corner, and placed it in front of the door. He pulled his gun from the holster, and held it readily at his side. Like that, he waited for something to happen.

Jim was on guard, and it was obvious to Oswald he wouldn’t be able to make another grab for the phone any time soon. It had been quite a while anyway, and his paranoia had subsided. It was getting dark, and Jim might’ve still been up in arms but he doubted the assassins hadn’t moved on.

He was getting bored quickly, though. He wasn’t ready to sleep, despite being in bed and under the covers now. There wasn’t much to do but sit there, and he wasn’t very good at that.

“I hired an assassin, too.” Oswald said after no more than twenty minutes of silence.

Jim looked over the back of the chair at Oswald. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“For you,” Oswald said, and shrugged. He was lying flat on his back with his head on the pillow, hands on his stomach and legs sprawled out, probably to ensure the injured one was as comfortable as possible.

“What the fuck?” Jim turned further in the chair. He may have been getting tired a minute ago but now he was wide awake.

“I didn’t tell him to do anything yet, but you were acting suspicious at our last meeting, so I hired him to kill you if something happened to me. Payment would then be wired to his account by an anonymous source. Small time guy, didn’t even know if he’d succeed. I just wanted to feel better about it, knowing someone would exact my vengeance for me.”

Jim blinked.

“But I thought you should know.”

Jim groaned audibly and he slouched as he turned back toward the door. “Why would you tell me that?”

Oswald shrugged again. “I was just thinking about how if they’d succeeded, he probably would have thought you had something to do with it and killed you.” Oswald laughed, like that was somehow fucking funny.

“Good thing you saved me, huh?” He lifted his head to look at Jim to find him glaring hard over the back of his chair at him.

“Call him off.”

“I will,” Oswald said.

_“Right now.”_

“I don’t have a phone. Besides, you said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Now you know you’re protecting yourself, too.”

Jim let out a harsh sigh, stretching out his legs. “You’re by far the worst person I’ve ever had to share a room with.”

Oswald merely snorted at that. “Well then, why were you acting weird that day?” Oswald tried.

“Headache.” Jim stated plainly.

Oswald scoffed, obviously not believing him.

“I wasn’t planning anything against you. I’m still not. I’m not going to break our deal. Stop hiring people to kill me.”

“Long as you’re telling the truth,” Oswald shimmied his shoulders to relax more on the bed. Jim had taken that better than he thought he would, though he didn’t know what he would have expected. Granted, he didn’t know why Jim would have expected better, either.

“Sorry,” he found himself saying.

“What?” Jim was looking back again.

“I was scared, nervous, irrational. Sorry for putting out a hit on you.”

Jim sighed heavily. Once again, he didn’t know what to say to that. It was the same song over and over again. Sooner or later one of them would just have to full-on trust the other and Jim didn’t know how that would turn out. But they were both alive and existing in the same room together. Oswald was behind him in a bed and he had no idea Jim had been plagued with thoughts of this exact scenario only with less assassins and less clothes.

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight in the chair. Somehow Oswald being a total shit as usual didn’t register very high on his list of problems.

“I forgive you,” he said finally. It was least a minute or two after Oswald had finished speaking, and it felt awkward being said so late, and maybe to serious. He heard Oswald shift in the bed behind him like he’d sat up to look at Jim, but he didn’t say anything else on the subject.

“I’m hungry,” Is what he said instead.

Jim sighed heavily, because he was trying to ignore the sad fact, “me too.” His eyes moved to the dirty cupboards and sink. “Wouldn’t they have kept food here?”

“Do you really want to eat anything that’s been in there for four years or more?” Oswald scoffed. Jim ignored him and stood, heading for one of the cupboards Oswald had not defiled during his fit of rage. Oswald rolled his eyes hard, and supposed it was his turn to stare at the door.

Jim pulled a box of something— pancake or cornbread mix or something— out of the cupboard, and set it on the counter, staring down at it. Oswald watched curiously, because he was sure there was no way they could make 4 year old pancakes or cornbread with that box alone. Yet, Jim just kept looking down at it thoughtfully. Tasteless as the thought was, it was making Oswald hungry.

“Sorry,” Jim said, voice cracking.

Oswald’s eyes flicked from the box of food to his back. He was only just now noticing how stiff Jim’s body had become.

“Beg pardon?” Oswald asked.

“About Sofia,” Jim said, voice slightly strained. Oswald sat, confused, his stomach turning on how much it wanted food in it as he processed the fact that Jim had been thinking about something other than eating while staring at the box.

Oswald snorted. “You’re not,” he snuffed, almost a laugh. “Sorry to Gotham, maybe. Sorry to Bullock, and all the people the people killed by Lazlo Valentine. Sorry it was her you went to and not someone with a little more civility… less of a vendetta against you.”

“…I think you’re sorry for a lot of things, Jim. But don’t try to find a reprieve from them by apologizing to me,” Oswald considered his own words, then shrugged. “Wouldn’t forgive you anyway.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me, you know what I am, and I know what you are. And you’re not sorry.”

Oswald didn’t sound angry. Now Jim didn’t know why he’d said that, because Oswald was right. He wasn’t sorry, but he didn’t understand why Oswald wasn’t angrier. Now that Jim had brought it up, tried a half-assed lie to fix it, now that it was staring them in the face. This thing between them that had allowed them to destroy each other over and over again— more frequently for Jim to destroy Oswald. Why wasn’t Oswald angrier?

“You’re right.” Jim turned around, away from the expired pancake mix and made himself look at Oswald. He looked ridiculous, lying under the covers in an old bed, propped up on the pillows with his entire three-piece suit still on. “Sorry for saying it.”

“For that I forgive you,” Oswald was all smiles, and it was as confusing as it was contagious. Even if they were sarcastic, it all felt lighter than it should have. “Hard to expect better by now.”

Jim frowned wryly but didn’t object, turning back to the counter and picking up the box of mix to put it back where he’d gotten it.

“Do you think they’ve moved on by now?” Oswald asked. “It’s late.”

“We should stay the night, just to be safe,” Jim insisted, and Oswald sighed heavily but didn’t argue. Another welcome surprise.

o-o-o-o

“What are you doing?!” Oswald looked like someone had just stabbed his favorite henchman. Or, Jim imagined that was the sort of thing that would have given him the look of mildly perturbed.

Jim had only taken off his jacket though, and was working on the black button-down.

Oswald had pulled the covers up to just underneath his chin as if he were hiding from something underneath them now. His eyes were wide and his brows were slanted so harshly downward it was almost comical.

“I have to sleep too.” Jim said, plainly, tossing his button-down aside and then sitting on the edge of the bed to work at his shoes. 

“Not here you don’t!” Oswald barked. The bed was old and lined with a layer of dust. It was bad enough that he had to sleep in it, now he had to share it?

“Where do you suggest, then? The wooden floor?” Jim countered, and Oswald frowned harder but didn’t further protest. Jim finished removing his shoes, tossed them aside, and then pulled up the covers on his side of the bed. 

“It’s a king, Oswald. You won’t even know I’m here.” He murmured, exhaustion setting in just at the sight of an expanse of mattress and soft pillows. 

“Says you,” Oswald huffed as he rolled over, pulling the blanket up to his shoulder, shimmying around under it until he relaxed.

“I bet you snore.”

“I bet _you_ snore.” Jim countered, too tired to say anything meaner.

“I do not snore!” Oswald seemed happy to bark back.

“Good to know,” Jim said, simply, lying on his back and closing his eyes. If Oswald had anything else to bicker about Jim wasn’t sure he’d hear it. He’d been half-gone since his head hit the pillow.

Oswald was too busy griping while pointedly facing the opposite direction to notice how quickly Jim fell asleep. But it only took five minutes for soft, small, but very apparent snorts to start sounding off beside him. He heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and pulled the covers over his head. It was quiet enough that he couldn’t hear it as much underneath, but it was still going to take a lot to fall asleep like this.

o-o-o-o

Jim didn’t know what had woke him up until he shivered. His brow furrowed, and he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar moonlit room that was almost as dirty and run-down as the bedroom in his apartment, but definitely different.

He hugged himself tighter as he got a chill, and realized he was sleeping in only his black jeans and a tank-top with nothing covering him. That was odd, because further memory jogs assured he’d definitely gone to sleep under a cover—

—he’d looked over his shoulder to find a cocoon wrapped up next to him with a tuft of black hair sticking out the top.

“Oswald.” He groaned, and rolled over, reaching an arm out to grasp the blanket in his hand and tug on it. Oswald had thoroughly wrapped himself up, and it didn’t budge at first.

“Oswald!” Jim barked, not caring if he was able to snatch the blanket back on his own or if he woke the other man up to demand some of it back. He was just fucking cold.

Finally with a harsh yank, enough came loose for Jim to cover himself, and he yanked again for good measure, pulling Oswald’s body slightly with it. He was positive he’d taken more than he needed, and was spitefully glad that he did.

About 5 minutes of trying to fall back to sleep once his body temperature had started to settle passed before-

“Jim?” A groggy voice made Jim tense. He heard shifting around behind him and then felt pulling on the blanket that he’d maybe too ambitiously snatched back. 

“Stupid…” Oswald strained, “…asshole.” his tone was whiny and sleepy and Jim might’ve been annoyed by the insults if he hadn’t found himself caught up in listening to the sound of it.

Oswald always had the nerve to sound so organic, no matter what, when, or where. Maybe it was a lack of self-awareness, or perhaps it was just a conscious refusal to be anything less than himself. To take anything less than he wanted, to express anything other than what he felt. He had to think that there were other emotions Oswald would express just as rawly. Joy, love, ecstasy…

Jim hated that these thoughts had overcome him while Oswald was behind him in the same bed trying to yank the covers out of his hands.

Oswald was seemingly too sleep-weak to pull the blankets back to his side, and Jim eventually shifted his weight to release them from under him, and pushed a portion back to share. Oswald stopped pulling, but didn’t say anything. For a few long moments, Jim didn’t hear or feel the bed shift for him to lie back down and go back to sleep.

It was almost comical to Jim that even while half-asleep in a situation like this, they’d found something to fight over. They couldn’t exist in the same city nor the same bed while asleep without spite somehow finding its way in. There was a time that Jim was certain he meant something to Oswald— was so transparently his savior, had so much of his faith, and maybe more than that. But those times were long gone, and all that was left was rotten history.

But, there was also this. Lying beside him despite that history, no fear or unease or mistrust. Perhaps it was their alliance, what they could get out of each other. But the thing about history was that it came with evidence.

He felt the mattress move, heard it creak as Oswald finally settled back in behind him. He was still shivering and twitching and moving his feet like it had become impossible for him to get comfortable.

Perhaps it was more. Some form of unconditional, thoughtless trust that started that day on the pier. Not to do what’s best or to depend on one-another, but never to go too far. Never to cross the line or break an unspoken rule that would see both their lives continue. Even if Oswald had put out a hit on Jim that went into effect were Oswald to meet an untimely end… well, that seemed to suit their dynamic as much as anything.

Jim rolled over, perhaps overcome with some impulse to touch him and feel that he was tangible, that this, whatever strange relationship they had, was still happening. He put his hand softly on Oswald’s upper arm to still him, squeezing gently. And to no surprise, he stilled.

“Go back to sleep,” Jim said, softly, tiredly. He felt Oswald’s body relax underneath his hand, and slowly let it drag from him, over his back, and lay on the mattress in the space between them. A space that had become much smaller than it was a few hours ago.

o-o-o

Oswald woke to a sore leg and pins and needles in his arm. He’d fallen asleep with pressure on his elbow apparently, and now couldn’t feel his forearm or hand at all. Groaning, he rolled over onto his other side and almost jumped when he found Jim Gordon’s face there, just inches away.

Only the top of Jim’s head was on the pillow, his hair a mess and pointing every which way, his chin tucked lower and pressed against the mattress. He was breathing softly, barely moving with each in or exhale. Oswald wondered how he still slept so peacefully, after all he’d been through, been put through, and all he’d done.

At least he wasn’t snoring anymore.

Oswald took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the tingling in his arm and hand subsided. There was a time wherein he would have risked quite a lot to wake up next to Jim Gordon. But then— half the reason he would have was simply because he believed there was no risk in this man. That was then, when Oswald thought it would have been easier to sway Jim to his thinking, or perhaps simply hoped.

At any rate he’d done his fair share of getting lost in beholding the features of Jim’s face. His eyes, his jawline, his mouth, his lips. It wasn’t long before those attractions were drown in other priorities, and that had been for the best. Jim Gordon wasn’t on his side. He saw the ugliness in Oswald Cobblepot and he didn’t accept it, tolerated it only in very specific circumstances, and overall completely failed to even attempt to understand. Perhaps Oswald couldn’t have, wouldn’t have expected him to— maybe some part of him didn’t even want him to.

It wasn’t what Oswald had wanted from Jim in the beginning. He’d thought he would have been more. When everyone else including Falcone was just a pawn to be used, he’d planned to be true to Jim. At first. But everyone develops misconceptions that raise those they’ve only just met onto a pedestal, don’t they? How easy to do so for someone who saved your life on compassion alone, despite theirs and their loved ones being in so much danger.

Oswald knew Jim’s reason was nothing to do with him, one only born of a desperate need to resist becoming part of what Gotham turned everyone else into. But in the end, it got Jim too. Still, Oswald couldn’t help thinking that if faced with that decision in this era, Jim would make the same choice.

Hatred, mistrust, disgust… he’d felt all of them for Jim at one point or another since then, and he was certain Jim had felt the same often enough.

But now, in this moment, the two of them had a better understanding of one-another than they ever had before, and there Jim was, sound asleep right next to him. Not unlike rabbit falling asleep on a carrot farmer’s lap, well-fed and at peace. Never expecting to be reprimanded for the damage he’d caused, would probably cause in the future. But then, Oswald too must’ve been a rabbit.

After all was said, done, disregarded and pushed into the background, here he was was. Helplessly, foolishly overwhelmed with a desire to touch his face, feel his knuckles brush over his cheek. Kiss his lips, feel them under his fingers.

Oswald closed his eyes softly, slowly, and tried to remember how to breath.

Then he opened them swiftly and pulled his hand out from under the covers to reach out and jab Jim’s shoulder repeatedly with his first and forefinger.

“Jim!” he huffed, the movement getting more frantic until Jim moved.

“Owe!” Jim jerked awake, and Oswald thought maybe he’d poked a bit too hard. “What is it?” His eyes were suddenly wide open, and he sat up, looking around the room warily.

“Nothing, you were having a nightmare.” Oswald lied, turning onto his back.

Jim’s head hit the pillow again and he groaned, shoving his palm into his eye to rub the sleep away. Oswald stayed tense, hyper-aware of the fact that Jim wasn’t being very considerate of the distance between them. Jim stilled, and Oswald felt his eyes on the side of his face long enough that he needed to say something.

“You stole the blankets last night,” he said, pettily.

“You stole them first.” Jim informed.

Oswald opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it, and shrugged. “Believable.”

Jim laughed at that, and Oswald felt it in his gut.

“You also snore.” Oswald added, thinking that maybe somehow he could lead this in a way that Jim would laugh again. He was hopeless and liked how it sounded, how it felt.

“I know.”

Oswald rolled his eyes.

Jim was already flipping open his phone. He had two missed calls and three texts from Harvey. That was the first thing he looked at, the second was the time.

“Shit,” He sat up. It was only 5:30 AM. The sun was barely up. He had a mind to grumble at Oswald for waking him so early, but it was probably best he answer Harvey. The texts were from only a half hour ago. If he called back now, he could stop Harvey from assembling a search and rescue team.

“What?” Oswald asked.

“Bullock thinks I’m dead,” Jim said.

“Text him that I killed you. Make it sound like I wrote it.” Oswald said, and he wasn’t trying to sound that funny but Jim laughed again, this time louder, and Oswald found himself smiling at the ceiling.

“He’d never believe that. He thinks you’re ‘sweet on’ me,” Jim said it without thinking, because it was true, word for word, and the truth offered a simple response. By the time he could start regretting it, Harvey’s voice was coming through the other line, no shortage of shouting.

Oswald could hear Harvey’s frantic voice through the phone, but his mind was too frozen by Jim’s last line to process the words. The first coherent thing he felt was a desperate need to insist that certainly he _wasn’t_ anything of the sort.

Then he started hearing Jim’s voice in the background again, and knew he had to push it down. Act casual, like he had been. Like they had been. Maybe Jim thought he was, maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t care. It wouldn’t change anything, so Oswald didn’t need to dwell.

“Yeah, it’s probably safe to head back in a few hours,” he’d just started to say, “some of Penguin’s people are going to cover us.”

“No, Harvey, it’s fine.”

Oswald couldn’t hear Harvey’s voice now, so he must’ve calmed down. He watched Jim with curiosity, scoffing at the name “Penguin.” He didn’t know why— that was his title, what he demanded to be called. But Jim hardly ever called him that in front of him anymore.

Jim heaved a sigh. “I’ll be there by noon. I’m going back to sleep. Just wait, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

Jim snapped the phone shut, and fell back against the pillow.

“You’re going back to sleep?” Oswald questioned, a little surprised.

“It’s not even 6 AM. This bed is a hundred times more comfortable than mine,” He turned on his side and looked at Oswald’s face. “Aren’t you tired?”

Oswald opened his mouth to speak but then closed it because no, he wasn’t. But if Jim wanted to sleep more, there wasn’t much reason to stop him. Or maybe there was, but it was hard when factoring in Jim’s big, blue, questioning eyes. 

Yes. Certainly it was best if they waited until the sun was higher.

“I guess,” was all Oswald managed to get out.

Jim’s eyes stayed open a little longer, boring into Oswald’s as if searching for something. Oswald found himself clinging to a desperate need to remain on guard, to not reveal whatever it was Jim was looking for.

Jim nodded, every so slightly, then turned on his back and closed his eyes.

o-o-o

Oswald didn’t sleep. He tried to, but his leg hurt and it seemed like the pills weren’t doing as much. They had that effect when he took too many, too often. Still, he lay there, because what else could he do? Call in his men early, sure, but that would just mean he had to walk. He’d almost been shot and this was perhaps a welcome break that came with some much needed rest.

Even if he didn’t sleep more now, the sleep he’d gotten earlier was more than he’d had in weeks.

He didn’t know why that thought was the one that finally did it. It happened before he realized he’d let it. He turned his head, and looked at Jim.

Jim had rolled onto his side about ten minutes after seeming to have fallen asleep, which was about ten minutes after he’d closed his eyes. So, once again, Jim was facing Oswald because life was just that unfair to Oswald Cobblepot and by now he’d come to accept it.

Jim wanted to sleep this time, so Oswald had to let him.

Let him lie there and breathe softly, with his lips just a little open, head downturned hair a mess, smelling the way cologne and deodorant does when its on its last legs. It smelled good.

Oswald turned, slowly, carefully onto his side, resting his temple on the pillow, eyes fixed on Jim’s chest moving in and out.

_Harvey thinks you’re sweet on me._

Oswald released a shaky breath, watched Jim’s face twitch ever so slightly, as if in response. Feeling overheated and too contained, he pulled his arm out from under the blanket and rested his hand next to his face.

His fingers tapped. The wrinkle in the front of Jim’s shirt drew his eyes once more to what was behind it and he shut them tightly, opening them again to refocus on Jim’s face. His hand moved across the sheets, just a few inches closer, then stopped.

His heart pounded in his chest, and felt more like it was in his throat. Jim knew, he had to know. Oswald had in so many instances been unable to help himself. The staring, the words stuck on his tongue, the excuses he found to let Jim Gordon close to him even if it promised to ruin him.

He’d lasted this long, and he was still here, still in power, arguably more than anyone else in Gotham. Whatever this was, whatever compelled him to move his shaking fingers across the space between them and touch them to the seam of Jim’s tanktop, just above his chest— it was part of his burden, only a testament to how strong he was. The things he could overcome and survive. How powerful he could be.

His pointed finger curled behind the shirt seam, tugged ever so gently at it, just enough so it could glide down and humor the idea of actually touching Jim’s collar, his chest, his—

Oswald gasped and his runaway mind came to a screeching, searing halt when Jim’s eyes snapped open, his hand locking around Oswald’s wrist.

Fear washed over Oswald’s face after he jumped, his mouth opened but now words came out. Jim’s eyes were wide, not the eyes of a man who’d just recently been sleeping. How long had he been awake?

“Oswald…” Jim said, tone hoarse and dark and… breathy?

Oswald panicked inside as Jim’s face moved closer, “Ji-?”

Then everything fell incredibly still. Jim’s lips touched his, roughly but just once, just taking a taste, then retreating not even half an inch, the ghost of them lingering, breath spilling over his face.

Jim opened his eyes again, finding nothing but Oswald’s green, curious ones staring back at him, wide with surprise above his irresistible lips.

“Oswald.” Jim ground out, sliding his body closer and turning Oswald onto his back and reconnecting their mouths all at the same time. Jim’s hand found its way into his hair, wove and curled and pulled as Oswald tried his best just to meet the kiss without freezing.

Jim’s other hand, still around his wrist, pushed said wrist up behind his head, and held it there, moving on top of and pressing down against him, slotting their lips together and holding them there like they belonged.

When Jim finally released his mouth, Oswald still couldn’t breath. Harsh, shaking pants came instead and he looked at Jim’s eyes, his hair hanging down from where it belonged to tickle Oswald’s forehead. Jim was on top of him, had just got done kissing him, nose still rubbing against his. All of that was happening.

“Please,” was all Oswald could get out. _Please yes, please more, please don’t stop, please stay…_

Jim kissed him again, sliding his hand down to take Oswald’s other one by the wrist, and pushing it up above his head as well, holding them both there as his mouth trailed down to Oswald’s neck.

Oswald tilted his head back as far as it could go as Jim’s mouth and teeth dragged a wet line down his skin to where his neck met his shoulder. Jim pulled the skin into his mouth, and his heart leapt when Oswald moaned, low and cracked and cut short when Oswald seemed to catch himself in the middle of it.

Jim would have complained that he stopped, he wanted to complain, demand Oswald make all the sounds he wanted to hear. But right now he wasn’t sure how to talk about this. How to speak to Oswald at all, if doing so would ruin it. He wanted to so much more, right now, before it was ruined.

As if on cue, his phone started to buzz on the stand by his side of the bed. Both of them froze, and until Jim’s hands started to loosen on Oswald’s wrists, they remained silent.

“Don’t answer it,” Oswald said, voice breathy.

Jim heaved a sigh, groaned, and slid partially off of him. Not all the way, because he wasn’t ready to let this end, but enough that he could reach the phone.

Oswald didn’t protest further. He just lie there, looking up at Jim with half-closed eyes and puffy well-kissed lips. Black unruly hair framed and stuck to the edges of his face as he breathed heavy beneath him, the prettiest sight Jim had seen in a long time.

“Hello?” He forced his voice to sound as casual as possible when he opened the phone and brought it to his ear. The first finger of his free hand found its way to Oswald’s lips and touched them gently, until the person on the other end started to speak.

“Hey sweetie, it’s me.”

Barbara. Jim didn’t say anything at first, eyes shifting away from Oswald’s.

“I don’t have time to—“ Jim started, but was cut off.

“Listen, I was doing some digging, a little detective work, and I had to ask. Does the name Talia Craft ring any bells?”

Oswald watched Jim’s eyes, increasingly curious as to what the person on the other end was saying.

“Yes.” Jim said, eyes shifting to look at Oswald’s. The woman she’d hired to spy on Penguin— on Oswald. Talia Craft.

“Cards have it you’re the one that tipped off Penguin that she was mine. Just thought you’d like to know you got her killed. How many women’s lives ruined is that for you, now?”

Jim’s eyes searched Oswald’s confused ones for what… answers? He felt himself moving the phone from his ear, her voice now painful to have so loudly in his mind.

“Penguin had her killed because of you, because you had to secure you’re worthless alliance an—,” Barbara’s voice was cut off when Jim shut the phone, eyes still on Oswald, but not on his face. On his neck where Jim’s bite had left a faint mark.

“Jim?” Oswald said, mind panicking at the way Jim was looking at him now.

“This isn’t right.” Jim said, quickly, under his breath, and in seconds he was off of Oswald and on his feet.

“What?” Oswald sat up, frantic. Jim already had his shoes on, was pulling his shirt over his arms. “Where are you going?” Oswald was now over the edge with panic as he scrambled to throw the blanket off himself so he could stand. He hadn’t even gotten his feet on the ground when Jim had thrown his jacket over his shoulder, pulled the lever that opened the door to the exit tunnel, and was making his way toward it.

“Jim!” Oswald shouted, as loud as he could, far more than loud enough for Jim to hear. He stood up, straining himself past the pain that shot through his leg, and hurried down the tunnel, cringing with each limping step. When he got to the end, all he could see was a sheet of rain.

He looked left, and saw nothing. Right, the same. The rain soaked his face and hair when he hung his head out and shouted.

“Jim!” So hard and loud it scratched his throat, his whole body shaking with the force behind it. But he didn’t think anyone out there could hear it over the pounding rain.

He stood there, just inside the overhang of the tunnel opening, hands on the doorframe, lost inside his mind and staring out into the pouring rain. Who was on the phone? Where had Jim gone? How had he just left Oswald here, like this? Without any way to contact anyone to help him?

He said he’d protect him, he said it wouldn’t end like this!

A small sound of something clacking on the floor drew his attention when he moved his foot, and he looked down. Right next to the sole of his shoe was Jim’s phone. Slowly, almost in disbelief, Oswald reached down to pick it up. Perhaps he’d dropped it, but it didn’t appear to have any new impact damage. No, he was sure Jim had left it there on purpose,

For a moment he didn’t care that this gave him a way out, hardly realized. He was still angry, so lost, so torn apart by the way Jim had looked at him, run from him, _'this isn’t right.'_ Just when everything was finally—

He stopped his mind, took a deep breath, sucking in the tears he didn’t know had formed beneath the rain on his face until then, and flipped open the phone.

o-o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are delivering on that angst tag


	4. two out of three ain't bad

Barbara’s brow furrowed at the phone as she pulled it away from her ear, tongue pressed against the outside of her teeth in mild annoyance at being hung up on. Still, it was clear he’d gotten the message, and wasn’t happy about it. Goal achieved.

“There, it’s done.” She turned her head slowly to the woman sitting next to her, a sinister smile creeping over her lips.

“Thank you,” Talia said, the little smirk she’d been sporting since she arrived in the middle of the night not disappearing. “I appreciate the favor.”

“Anything for an old friend,” Barbara smiled wide, then turned her head frowned thoughtfully around the straw in her martini.

o-o-o-o

Harvey stood when Jim walked into the main hall like he’d been staring at the entrance for hours. His chair dragging across the floor echoed throughout the hall, causing everyone to look in his direction, and then what he was looking at.

In under thirty seconds everyone in the room had turned to look at Jim while he was soaking wet and dressed like a certain bounty hunter that was around two years ago.

He’d planned to slip in and hurry to the locker room, change quickly and get down to business. Forget what just happened had happened, at least for a while. But, leave it to Harvey to undo his stealth mode.

“Jim, what the hell happened?” Harvey said as he got close, paying no mind to the fact that he’d called everyone’s attention to their drenched captain. “You’re soaking wet, did you walk here?”

“I got a cab, eventually.” Jim said, “I need to change.”

“By all means, but I thought Penguin was dropping you off. What happened?”

Jim opened his mouth and all that came out was an irritated groan because he didn’t know how to answer that. _What happened?_

“Is Penguin still alive?”

Jim’s breath caught in his throat at that question. He wanted to say yes. He’d left his phone, it was certainly _probable._

“I don’t know,” Jim said instead, hurriedly walking around Harvey to head for the locker room.

Harvey trailed after him, the genuine worry spilling out of him like water from someone flailing in an over-filled tub. “Jim, buddy. Talk to me. Why are you dressed like that? Why didn’t you call?”

Jim heaved a sigh once he got to the locker and started pulling out his usual work suit. “Remember Talia Craft?”

Harvey’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, we spent a whole day on a background check because she was shifty,” Harvey recounted the events associated with the name. “Turned out she was Barbara’s mole on Penguin.”

“She’s dead,” Jim said. “Penguin had her killed. I’m the one that told him about her.”

“So what? Now you feel guilty?” Harvey leaned against the locker tilted his head back, face pointed at the ceiling as if to ask the heavens for mercy on his tired soul. “We needed that so he’d loosen up, you said so yourself! You knew that was a risk, and all evidence suggest she’s a cop killer anyway.”

“I told him not to.” Jim ground out.

“And what, you thought he’d go along with it?” Harvey snorted. “Are we talking about the same bird here? Who cares! We need him, Jim!”

“He said he wouldn’t.” Jim said, quietly, slamming his locker shut.

Harvey watched Jim storm across the room to a bench and start ripping his clothes off and considered his words, his tone of voice, the situation, and that damn bad-boy get up all at once.

“Oh no,” Harvey shook his head as a look of realization came over him. Jim’s eyes shifted to him. “No, no, no, no, no, no…” Harvey sounded like he could have gone on forever. Finally he ended his long fade-out stream of “no’s” with a deep breath.

“Are you screwing Cobblepot?”

Jim threw down his wet shirt and it slapped hard against the tile. “No!” He said, voice firm and booming. Harvey pursed his lips, and waited.

Jim deflated almost immediately after, face full of something like guilt or nervousness. He started pulling at his shoe laces, not willing to explain the actual situation but knowing it was obvious Harvey knew something was going on.

“So this is personal,” Harvey started. “You found out he lied to you and now your feelings are hurt, so you… what, left him to fend for himself against professional assassins? Real good for the team, Jim.”

“I left him my phone,” Jim grumbled. “He has plenty of people to call for help.”

Harvey shrugged. “All right, fair. What about this little alliance of yours? Things were turning out a lot easier than they were looking with his information on our side.”

Jim looked at him for a moment, then glared hard with resolve down at his clean, dry shoe as he tied it. Moments passed as Harvey regarded him quietly, watched his tense body deflate until he finally said:

“I kissed him.”

It was a whisper, or maybe it didn’t start that way but cracked into one.

Harvey breathed in deeply, and released it in a heavy sigh. Slowly, he sauntered across the room, and stopped with his hand gently on Jim’s upper back.

“Look, we can’t kill this alliance thing.” Harvey said, voice plain, soft were it possible for Harvey. “Let me meet with him, or… whoever he wants to send from now on. I’ll talk to him, sort it out.”

Jim seemed to be all out of rage, and merely took his foot down off the bench after securing his shoes, and stood up straight as he could.

Harvey started to leave, maybe to give Jim some space.

“Harvey,” Jim called, and Harvey stopped.

“Make sure he’s okay,” he said, and then nearly bit his tongue because he meant to say something more like _“tell me if he’s alive.”_

Harvey nodded, understanding in his eyes. Understanding that Jim didn’t want.

“I mean… just,” Jim huffed in frustration. “He told me he hired someone to come after me if he wound up dead.”

Harvey blinked with a clear lack of surprise as he took that shocker in, and nodded. “Speaking from personal experience, Jim? Don’t fall in love with the mob.”

Jim nodded weakly, and Harvey forced a smile for him, patted the doorframe as if it were Jim’s shoulder, and left.

o-o-o

It hadn’t taken long for Oswald, once he’d made it home safe and dry, to figure out who was on the other end of the phone and what they wanted.

The first part came easy, just from checking Jim’s call history. The number wasn’t registered under a name, but when he called it back “Barbara Queen” answered, and he immediately hung up.

From there it was just a question of what Barbara had said to set Jim off like that, and for a while he was completely lost.

The way Jim had looked at him while he had the phone to his ear, and then again right before he left… The memory continued to tear his gut to shreds as he mulled over it. He didn’t dare to call Jim to demand an explanation without any information, because thought the most logical possibility was that Barbara told Jim something unbefitting of their situation, there was another possibility.

Perhaps merely speaking to Barbara reminded Jim of who Oswald was, of what it was like for someone you were with to turn out so unlike you, so wrong in your eyes. Perhaps it reminded him he could do better. Morally or otherwise.

He could still feel Jim’s lips on his, taste him no matter how much wine he swallowed down with the same tongue. He didn’t know what was worse, never being with someone you wanted that way, or having it just for a moment and then watching them rip it away once they remembered what you were and that they didn’t _really_ want you.

Oswald reached passed his recently emptied glass and brought the wine bottle to his lips to swallow down a few gulps.

Zsasz was watching him study the files and mail in front of him. Waiting for an order, Oswald assumed. But Oswald had spent so little time investigating who had sent those assassins and so much time wondering what the hell Barbara had said to Jim to cause this.

Finally, he snatched up Jim’s phone, filled with resolve. He had to know.

“Jim, if you’re just calling to hang up on me a third ti—,”

“Hello!” Oswald interrupted, lacing his voice with sarcastic cheer and real frustration.

“Penguin?” He could hear Barbara’s face crinkling through the phone. She hadn’t called him Oz or Ozzy or even Oswald since Butch, since he’d used him to destroy Tabitha Galavan. A minor loss. 

“Why do you have Jim’s phone? Is he there?”

Oswald simply chuckled. “None of your business. This morning, before eight AM, you called Jim on this phone. I need to know what you said to him.”

“Is Jim dead?” Barbara sounded mildly disappointed at best.

“Not as far as I know. He dropped his phone. Please answer the question,” Oswald was forcing cheer into his voice but he was losing his cool if he’d ever had it.

“And why would I tell you anything?”

“How about because I let your little spy friend go with absolutely no repercuss—,” Oswald paused. Jim had no dealing with Barbara Kean, he’d expressed on multiple occasions nothing but a desire to avoid her at any cost. Unless he’d been lying, but Oswald didn’t believe that. That left so few ways for Barbara to manipulate Jim against him, but there was one that came to mind.

“You…” he said, realization washing over him. “You sent the assassins.”

“Assassins?”

“They told you I was with Jim, so you told him I killed her so he’d turn on me. To what, figure out where we were hiding? Maybe so he’d arrest me and give you an easy target?”

“Oswald, slow down. You’re doing what with Jim?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Oswald shouted. He had to be right.

“Don’t be stupid, Oswald, I’m not! I didn’t send any assassins after Jim. Why would I waste my time like that?” Barbara barked.

“Not him! Me!” Oswald shouted into the phone. Fine, if it wasn’t Barbara, then…

“Talia Craft,” Oswald said quickly. “Did she tell you to tell Jim she was dead?”

Barbara heaved a sigh through the phone, “You got me,” she didn’t really seem to care. It seemed evident that she had little to no idea what was going on. “She asked a favor, I owed her, and it was easy enough,” Barbara shrugged. “Are you and Jim finally fucki—,”

Oswald hung up the phone before she could finish that sentence and stood abruptly, turning to Zsasz.

“Find Talia Craft!” He shouted. “Don’t apprehend her, don’t kill her, don’t even let her know you’re there just _find out where she is_!”

“Aye, aye, chief!” Zsasz saluted him then smiled shortly, and disappeared from the room.

Oswald was seething with rage, questions running through his head. How did she find out about Jim and Oswald’s meetings? Someone in the GCPD? One of his own people? How did she find out Jim demanded he not harm her? Had she spoken to him at some point before Jim gave him her file?  
Where the hell had she gotten the money for that many assassins?

No— that was obvious, she’d been high-ranking and well paid by both Oswald and Barbara, and he’d let her walk away with what she’d earned. He’d just completely let her walk away and told everyone she’d resigned. This was the thanks he got?

“I’ll kill her, I’ll kill her—,” he cut himself off when he remembered the reason he’d come to this conclusion in the first place. Jim. Barbara told him that and he just believed it, ran away without even asking, left Oswald there feeling… worse than he’d felt in a long time.

Oswald picked up his glass, observed it thoughtfully, and then threw it as hard as he could at the nearest wall. “I’ll kill him.”

o-o-o

Talia Craft was alive and well.

Jim found out the next day. The news hit his desk courtesy of Harvey, looking at him as critically as ever. Jim paled.

“Penguin's not answering my calls.” Harvey said. “Maybe you should do something about all this,” he gestured vaguely with his index finger. Jim took a deep breath, exhausted, but nodded shortly. Harvey forced a comforting smile, and then left.

The first thing Jim did was call Barbara.

“She told me about your alliance, and as a favor, she asked me to get you to turn on him,” Barbara shrugged, sipping her drink between words. “I owed her one, so I didn’t press. I figured she just didn’t like you two working together— that’s a little unnerving for me too when I think about it. Are you guys fu—,”

“So you lied.” Jim interrupted.

Barbara grinned. “There’s only one way Penguin wouldn’t have killed her for what she was when he found out, and that was if you asked him not to. One of the terms of your agreement, I assume. So I knew it would work,” she winked at Tabitha as she walked by, who was looking at her with curiosity, probably because she’d heard the name ‘Penguin’ on her lips. “When are you going to learn you can’t get by in Gotham while being such a good boy, Jim?”

“He let her go?”

“Far as I know everyone on his end just thinks she resigned. Part of keeping him from looking weak or merciful, I guess. She’s a friend, and at least she’s alive. Can’t complain.”

“She sent assassins after him. He was with me when you called and they were after us. She came to you hoping if I turned on him I wouldn’t be in the way next time.” Or maybe the assassins were still there and she’d hoped it would reveal their location if they fought or Jim tried to bring him in.

But that meant Jim had left Oswald alone in that amount of danger, and he didn’t like thinking about that. Oswald was alive, and safe with his people according to enough sources. That was what mattered.

“Oooo, how convoluted,” Barbara smacked her lips after a particularly strong sip of tequila. “Bummer it didn’t work out, huh? Guess he’s still alive. Guess he’ll be coming after her.”

“You said she’s your friend. Aren’t you worried?” Jim asked.

“Not that good of friends. Doubt she has any more assassin money,” she shrugged. “You crazy kids are on your own.”

Jim took a deep breath, “thanks, Barbara,” he said, mostly sarcastic while gritting his teeth.

“Anything for you, sweetie.” Her voice was laced with malice, and she wasn’t surprised when Jim hung up the phone. She heaved a sigh and shoved a toothpick with an olive on the end into her mouth.

Jim hung up the phone, and held his head in his hands. Oswald was ignoring Harvey’s calls, and he hadn’t tried to contact Jim to explain himself at all, or ask what had gone wrong. Oswald hadn’t betrayed him at all, and now Oswald was apparently not speaking to him.

o-o-o

Three days, and Talia Craft was nowhere to be found. Zsasz had found enough information on her to discover that she’d had a personal vendetta all along. In some fit of rage years ago, Oswald had personally murdered her husband in cold blood. _Oops._

Accepting Barbara’s proposition and pointers to get her into his circle had been a ruse to get close to him. When he’d fired her, he’d ruined her plans to take him out on her own from the inside. So she’d used the money she made and gathered enough information for one last-ditch attempt on his life.

When it didn’t work, she’d unfortunately been smart enough to fall off the grid. He’d find her, though. It was only a matter of time.

His mind shifted to the makeshift GCPD, their resources, their eyes and ears, and how a week ago that’s where he might have gone for help. It wasn’t just vengeance, she’d come after him, and she might again. Surely that would have been enough to warrant help.

But that ball was in Jim Gordon’s court, and he knew they needed him more than he needed them. If nothing else, if Jim remained too proud, Bullock would rekindle their alliance and it could continue with someone much more suited for this kind of work at the head of it. He’d already called Oswald multiple times to express that Jim was an idiot and he wanted Oswald back on their side. All Oswald had to do was pick up the phone.

But maybe that felt too much like forgiveness, undeserved and too soon.

By the things he’d said, he had to wonder just how much Harvey Bullock knew, but he didn’t dwell on it long.

Things were looking up by the fourth day. Zsasz had found a possible lead and Oswald had sent some of his less valuable people after it in case it was a trap. He sat optimistically, sipping tea instead of wine, waiting for them to return with good news.

“Boss,” Zsasz entered the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Gordon’s here. Want me to pop one in him?”

Oswald scowled. He didn’t feel like doing this right now. “Tell him to leave.”

“I tried, he has a gun and… all that. And for some reason he’s dressed like an entry-level cop, which weirded me out so I had to get out of there.” Oswald’s eyes widened. 

“Just wanted to ask if I could… y’know…” Zsasz pulled his fingers out of imaginary holsters and mimed them like guns going off.

“No,” Oswald said, curiosity washing over him now. “Send him in.”

Zsasz pouted, but nodded, and turned to head back to the main doors.

Oswald waited with some attempt at patience but his nerves were instantly getting the better of him. The last time he’d seen Jim Gordon’s face clearly he'd had his head pressed in a pillow while underneath him, the taste of him all over his lips. Oswald reached up and touched the spot where the mark on his neck had all but faded.

Footsteps prompted him to tear his hand away, and his eyes flicked up.

The light was dim, but Jim was very clearly wearing a navy-blue police uniform, complete with the hat— and, Jesus, it was just a tiny, tiny bit too small for him. Oswald opened his mouth, but his breath ran away and no words came out. Instead, his eyes just continued to rake up and down of their own volition.

Stupid Jim, stupid uniform, stupid Oswald for letting him in. All he had to do was walk into the room to render him speechless, no matter what had previously transpired. When would Oswald stop being so foolish?

“Well…” Oswald cleared his throat. “At least you’re being blatant about being here to manipulate me into something,” he gestured toward the get-up as Jim approached slowly. There was something in Jim’s eyes, something completely separate from the damn uniform that despite their situation, managed to exude sex thanks to all of Oswald’s more ridiculous fantasies. The combination of both destroyed most of his defenses, but at least he always had sarcasm.

Jim shrugged, looking down at himself. “You got me,” he forced a humorous smile.

Oswald grinned, and nodded, but he felt like his insides were ripping themselves apart.

“I was wrong,” Jim said, and Oswald calmed, gaze softening, listening. “I shouldn’t have left you there in danger, no matter what, and especially not without asking you first if what I heard was true.”

“It’s not—,” Oswald started.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jim interrupted.

“Doesn’t it?” Oswald asked, slowly, some kind of curious twinkle in his eyes that made Jim’s heart pound.

Jim sighed, eyes shifting away. Moments passed, and then he started to speak. “When I told Harvey you’d gone against what I asked and had her killed, he told me it didn’t matter, that I should have expected it. It’s who you are, and you had every reason to do it given the risks. The alliance was more important than whatever you did to her.”

Oswald straightened himself, or maybe just shifted his weight under the uncomfortable uncertainty of the story being told. Either way, he was fidgeting from trying not to fidget as he forced himself to keep looking Jim in the eye.

“No matter what the truth was, I shouldn’t have left it like that. It was irresponsible, and as your contact with the GCPD in the name of our cooperation, I want to apologize.”

Oswald’s mouth fell open in disappointed disbelief, and he looked down. Of course. Of course he was making it a formality, dismissing what had transpired between them, sweeping it under the rug. He wasn’t wrong, but—

“But…” Jim continued, and Oswald’s eyes moved up to him quickly, desperate for more.

“It means something that it wasn’t true,” Jim said, his firm voice stuttering ever so slightly, but Oswald noticed. He noticed and latched onto it like a lifeline.

“Harvey was right. You had every reason to do it given the risks, but you didn’t. Because I asked you not to,” his voice was much softer now, and Oswald knew it wasn’t his contact with the GCPD speaking now, but James Gordon.

“That means something,” Jim finished.

Oswald could barely find it in himself to make words. “What…” he almost tripped over them, and swallowed hard to avoid sputtering out the rest, “…does it mean?”

“It means I’m sorry I didn’t ask you for the truth before leaving you there. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, and that I underestimated you,” Jim said, clearly but small, like maybe some part of him was afraid it would be rejected. Oswald managed to tell himself for all of three seconds that he _should_ have rejected it, and told Jim to get the hell out.

Those thoughts were quashed when Oswald looked Jim in the eye and took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected such a strong recognition for the act, or any at all, when he’d gone out of his way to spare Talia Craft without it coming back to haunt him. In the end it had anyway.

“Is this apology also in the name of the GCPD and our alliance?” Oswald found it in himself to ask.

“In the name of our friendship,” Jim answered quickly. “As a friend, I’m sorry.” He moved a little closer, and wasn't sure Oswald noticed.

Oswald swore to himself that if he let Jim see him open his mouth without any words coming out one more time he’d step on his own foot. It took a while, but—

“Apology accepted,” Oswald said quickly, “…even if it was so very you,” he said after, and those words came out with a tiny, humorous smile before he’d planned them. Jim smiled back, not small, big and genuine and Oswald wanted to run away before he did something terrible. Friendship, friendship he’d said, not _‘grab my face and shove your tongue down my throat.’_

“Does this mean our alliance can continue uninterrupted?” Jim asked, and the question of business was a welcome escape from what was transpiring in Oswald’s mind at this most inopportune time.

“I don’t know,” Oswald shrugged. “Things will have to change. Barbara Kean likely knows about it now, so chances are others will too. We may have to go more public.”

“I’ll talk to my people, they should be prepared to do accept that.” Jim said, simply.

“Talia Craft is still out there, possibly plotting my death as we speak. If you really want to apologize, I could use your help sorting that out.”

Jim hesitated to answer, his face falling.

Oswald heaved a sigh. “I won’t have her killed if that’s what you want, you can arrest her or… whatever it is you do these days.” he said, clearly irritated but perhaps still high on Jim saying it meant something the last time he’d agreed to the fact.

“I’d appreciate that,” Jim said, voice strained, like he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say but it was clearly what he wanted to say. Oswald had to smile ironically as he looked away for just a moment. Jim would always be Jim.

“Anything for an old friend,” Oswald said with humor. Jim smiled in response, and took a step forward. Oswald waited in nervous anticipation until Jim revealed his intentions, holding out his hand to Oswald, like he had twice before in situations like these.

Of course, a handshake. Of course. Everything back to normal. That was fine. Absolutely fine.

Oswald put his hand in Jim’s, and nodded as he shook it, meeting Jim’s eyes. Then Jim tugged on his arm, hand sliding down his wrist, under his sleeve as he yanked him closer, arm wrapping around his waist.

“Wha—?” Oswald was cut off when Jim kissed his lips, sealed them together tightly at first and then slowed, gently rolling his bottom lip against Oswald’s top. Oswald didn’t move, and Jim retreated slightly, rubbing his nose against Oswald’s, watching Oswald’s eyes flutter shut.

“Is this okay?” Jim whispered.

“Zsasz.” Oswald whispered back, and Jim’s brow furrowed with confusion.

“Zsasz is right there…” Oswald said, some shame, eyes flicking behind Jim and to their right. Jim’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder.

“Hi,” Zsasz smiled, clearly incredibly amused by the sight before him.

Jim gaped at him. He thought he’d left the room.

“Victor.” Oswald piped up. “Leave us, and cancel my three o’clock.”

“Will do, boss.” Zsasz saluted him, but didn’t move from the spot he was in.

“Victor,” Oswald warned, and Zsasz let out a sigh of disappointment and rolled his eyes hard before stalking off somewhere. Jim had backed off, if only slightly, and released his arm, though his other hand was still around Oswald’s waist.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jim said.

“…what?”

“Is this okay?” He asked, sincerely.

Oswald considered, then shrugged one shoulder. “Everyone needs an adventure every once in a while,” then he looked down, taking in how the uniformed hugged all of Jim’s finer features to make himself lose his breath.

“Let’s see where this one takes us,” he spoke soft, looked up at Jim’s eyes again for confirmation. Jim felt an overwhelming need rising in his stomach as he took Oswald in his arms again, and kissed him. This time Oswald was quick to wrap his arms around Jim’s neck as he was picked up, and placed on the table with Jim shoving his hips between his legs. Oswald dared to open his mouth and Jim caught him by the tongue with his lips, and sucked, the sound of the moan he received giving him cause to grab tightly to Oswald’s thigh and hold on for his life.

He needed to hear so much more of that.

 _‘Don’t fall in love with the mob.’_ Harvey had said.

Tomorrow Jim would tell him he could make his own mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's the fluff tag! whoo! thanks for all the comments and support I screAMED like 8 times at the nice things you guys had to say! hope you enjoyed the ending!
> 
> !ALSO !! A really great [ao3 user called feurio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feurio) left [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2618522e1706a5d7317379aae60f833a/tumblr_pbf4otdxwM1x4s4p2o1_540.png) in a comment for the first scene of part three, and, obviously it's great and I love it and I laugh.


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